


Need to Know

by EtLaBete



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: Jesse McCree is shot in the shoulder during a mission gone wrong. Quick action on Hanzo's part saves his hide, but something changes after the transport ride back, and Jesse is left wondering why his steadfast friend is suddenly avoiding him like the plague.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends! I've decided to take a vacation from Reaper76 Hell and join the McHanzo bandwagon. :D This fic all but demanded to be written even though I have six million other projects I'm working on. 
> 
> There is mildly explicit sexual content at the end (literally a paragraph) and a whole lotta Jesse before that. I wrote this in a single sitting and did not have a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes you find. I hope you enjoy!

Jesse knows three things.

He knows that he was shot in the shoulder during an op on the outskirts of Dorado, and it hurt. A lot.

He knows Hanzo jumped from his third story perch, arrows flying despite his fast descent, and was at his side in record time, teeth bared. Seconds later, the dragons rushed ahead of them, weaving like his cigarillo smoke and leaving destruction in their paths.

He knows the archer sat with him on the transport back to base because even if Angela’s concoction of pain meds made him half delirious, he wouldn’t forget the feeling of calloused fingers ghosting over the back of his hand. Couldn’t if he wanted to. He’s been mooning quietly over Shimada Hanzo long enough that he’s pretty sure nothing could erase it.

He doesn’t know a thing beyond that.

The meds muddle everything else. He hardly remembers arriving back at base, let alone the first twenty-four hours he spends in the medbay. Once he’s finally awake the next day, he feels like he’s submerged in a dense fog. It’s easy to breath, but it’s hard to do anything else. He doesn’t have the energy to claw his way out, barely has the energy to open his eyes, so he sits back and rides it out.

He’s there for another four days after that, and he manages to convince Angela to stop doping him up with narcotics the second day he's awake. If he regrets it six hours later, he won’t say so. He just grins and bares it, and he waits.

He sees either Angela or Lucio every few hours so they can poke and prod and check his vitals, and a few of the other members of the team stop by to check on him (Lena, Reinhardt, Soldier: 76) and sneak him something that isn’t the gruel Angela serves her patients (Hana). Even Genji stops by on the morning of the fourth day, straight from mission debrief. He’s all playful quips even though his leg is sparking something fierce after a knife was lodged in his calf hours earlier.

Hanzo is painfully absent.

“Lucio,” he says as the younger man helps him shrug into his flannel that afternoon. His entire body hurts even though he was just shot in the shoulder. “The mission in Dorado.”

“You mean the one that got you shot,” Lucio says cheerfully.

“Yeah, that’d be the one.” Jesse pauses. “Hanzo— he wasn’t hurt, was he?”

Lucio steps in front of him to start buttoning Jesse’s shirt. Jesse tries to stop him, but Lucio gently swats his hand away. “I know you’re feeling it all the way to your fingers, man. Let me do it.”

“Fine,” Jesse huffs.

Lucio is silent as he works the buttons closed. He still smiles, but there’s something forced about it.

Jesse feels like he might be sick, but he needs to know, so he clears his throat. “Not a scratch on him, I reckon. He’s a spry son of a gun, after all.”

"Mild contusions," Lucio says and fastens the final button, then reaches for the hat that’s been sitting on his bedside table. He plops the stetson on Jesse’s head. “Make sure you take your meds. Be back here tomorrow for me to check those stitches. We’ll use the biotic laser to get better focus and speed up healing. Two weeks and you’ll be good as new.”

Jesse forces himself to return the smile. “You got it, kid.”

“He said two weeks, Jesse McCree!” Angela calls from her office.

Jesse laughs, but he leaves the medbay feeling worse than when he got there.

He tries not to focus on it, tries not to overthink the feral expression on the archer’s face when stood over Jesse— Jesse, who was lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood and could do nothing but watch the muscles of Hanzo’s arm flex as he notched and fired and called forth mythical beasts on Jesse’s behalf.

He tries not to overthink the touch on the transport, so goddamned gentle, and the divots in between the archer’s tightly knit eyebrows. He wonders if he said something while he was doped up on narcotics, something that scared Hanzo away. He doesn’t remember professing his love, and he feels like Angela would have told him because she was there with them in the transport the entire time.

He tries not to overthink the absence, and he fails.

Since he’s disobeyed Angela before and knows exactly where ignoring the strict rest orders will get him, he follows them. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning of the last six months have been designated for shooting with Hanzo in Training Room One when they’re both on base. His first official morning not laid up in the medbay is a Wednesday, and he doesn’t go.

Hanzo doesn’t show up like he normally would, banging on Jesse’s door and yelling for him to stop being so lazy and undisciplined.

Jesse dresses slowly, understanding now why Lucio buttoned his shirt for him the day before. He’s sore, moreso than when he was laid up in the medbay since he’s been moving around and not relegated to a single seated position, and he regrets waving away the offer for something stronger than NSAIDs.

When he gets to the mess, everyone’s already at the table. Everyone except Hanzo. Jesse frowns, but he sits down all the same, groaning as he sinks into the seat.

“You look awful,” Hana says brightly. “I guess you get the first stack of pancakes.”

Jesse offers her a wolfish grin.

All in all, it seems like a normal morning. There’s a lot of chatter, some business, some inane, and Jesse soaks in the the normalcy of it even though the itch of Hanzo’s absence demands he scratch. Still, he laughs when everyone else does as Lena flip pancakes on the stove with record-breaking speed.

After breakfast, Jesse has nothing else to do, so he sits in the rec room and watches Hana play games. He laughs when she tosses popcorn at him for ribbing her, even impresses her by catching a few ill-aimed kernels in his mouth. They’re there for hours, and several other members of the team flit in and out, but Hanzo doesn’t appear.

It doesn’t take long for Jesse to realize that it ain’t a coincidence.

Days go by, and it’s much of the same. He floats through the motions of base life, alternating between tired, bored out of his mind, and unashamedly grumpy. He considers asking someone about Hanzo, but everyone’s very silent on the matter, all things considered, and he refuses to sacrifice his pride for a man who can’t even show his face. Jesse McCree is a lot of things, but lenient towards cowards isn’t one of them. The worry and depression soon morphs into white-hot anger. He holds onto it, keeps it bottled up tight, and reminds himself that it’s there when he thinks about how lonely he is.

***

Two weeks later, he’s back in the medbay, shirt off and smile on as he sits on the table. Angela prods at his shoulder, gloved hands cool against his shoulder.

“This healed well,” she comments. “You must have listened to me, for once. Is it still tender?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Not really, except maybe in the mornings. Feels fine the rest o’the time. Followed your recommendations to a tee, Doc. Didn’t use my right hand for a damned thing.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m ready for the all clear, if ya know what I mean.”

Angela rolls her eyes and fights off a smile. “You’re awful.”

Jesse snorts. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, darlin’.”

She finally gives in and laughs. “Put on your shirt, you oaf.”

Jesse reclothes himself. He hears her bustling around him, the snap of latex as she removes her gloves, the click of the biohazard waste bin. He didn’t show up here with anything in mind, but he makes a decision in that moment. “Angie.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Yes, we have.”

Jesse swallows the lump in his throat. “You’d tell me the truth, wouldn’t ya? If I asked ya a personal question.”

The timber of her voice changes, like she’s finally seen the lure. “Of course.”

“He’s avoidin’ me, ain’t he?” Jesse breathes out.

The movement behind him stops, and the room is silent except for their breathing and the click of Jesse’s prosthetic fingers on the buttons of his shirt.

“Yes,” she finally says on the tail-end of a delicate sigh. “I think he is. I don’t know for sure, since he doesn’t talk to me much, but I’ve noticed his absence, especially with you. He’s also requested to go on a few missions he was not originally scheduled for.”

Jesse works his jaw, like that will stop the tight feeling in his throat. “I didn’t say nothin’, right? On the transport? Nothin’ that would give him the wrong idea.”

“No,” she murmurs, and the word alone sounds like her heart’s breaking for him.

He hates it.

“You did not,” she continues, “at least not that I heard. You spoke a great deal about how fuzzy your mouth felt.”

They both laugh, but it’s forced.

“I wondered, you know,” she says. “As you’ve said, I’ve known you a long time. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone, and after all of these months, I wondered if you—”

He cuts her off. “Let’s not go into it,” he says, bordering on desperate, and then turns around to find her staring at him, lips tilted down in an impossibly sad frown. “Doesn’t need sayin’, all things considered.”

“I worry about you, Jesse McCree.”

“You know me, Doc. I can handle a little rejection. Stings a bit, though.” He offers her a lopsided grin. “I didn’t even get to make a right fool of myself by tellin’ him how I felt.”

Angela reaches forward and takes his flesh hand, cupping it between her own. Her hands are soft and smooth and warm, and he grips back for a moment before he pulls away.

“I want a status update in another two weeks,” she says as he turns to leave.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jesse looks over his shoulder when he reaches the doorway, tips his hat, and winks.

“Get out of here before I declare you too stupid for active duty.”

Jesse laughs, genuinely laughs, for the first time in two weeks.

***

He sees Hanzo a few days later when he steps outside around sundown for a smoke.

The archer sits with his brother next to the satellite dish. He can tell they’re speaking, but he’s too far away to be able to discertain more than that. They stare out at the water, and Genji’s metal plates gleam orange in the strange dusky glow of the setting sun. Jesse has no eyes for him, though. He watches Hanzo, who sits with his hands folded in his lap, the golden ribbon that ties his hair back whipping in the salty breeze.

Jesse’s never been the romantic type. He’s friendly, willing to lend a hand, but he always keeps himself a step or two behind everyone else. If there’s sex involved, it’s quick and rough and dirty and only happens once, maybe twice, and he’s liked it that way. If his years in Blackwatch and the devastating fall of Overwatch taught him anything, it’s that nothing lasts and people leave you behind. It’s never been an issue before, stomaching that truth. He’s a realistic sort of man and he knows better than to build up his expectations.

So, the pitter patter of his heartbeat fumbling in his chest as he stares up at Hanzo is one thing. He can keep that to himself. It’s the loneliness that gets him, like a bucket of ice water tossed over his head. He’s spent so long trying not to get attached, and it finally happened, except now he’s been rejected and he’s just damned lonely. He doesn’t believe in soulmates, but he’s pretty sure he found a kindred spirit in Hanzo. Redemption, guilt, loneliness—all of it weighing on them both like a landslide, bringing them together under the heft of it. Jesse doesn’t think he’s felt this rotten since Reyes pushed him away before Overwatch imploded.

He has to dab out the cigarillo. He can barely breathe, and the smoke chokes him even more.

When he looks back up, Hanzo is turned towards Genji, but he doesn’t stare at his brother. His eyes are on Jesse.

Jesse stares back, offers a two-fingered salute, and then goes back inside.

***

Hanzo starts appearing more around base, but they don’t talk. When he joins them for a meal for the first time in ages, Angela makes a point to sit Jesse between herself and Fareeha, like she’s the embodiment of Rein’s shield. Hanzo blinks quizzically the first time it happens (because it happens many more times), but he doesn’t comment, just bows his head and eats. Jesse, however, laughs, full-out guffaws at the table while everyone stares at him.

He thinks Hanzo’s cheeks might be tinged the slightest bit pink, but he can’t find it in him to care.

 _How’d it get to this_ , he thinks as he swipes tears from the corners of his eyes.

Angela elbows him in the ribs to get him to stop, quoting table manners, and Jesse does catch her smiling, but there’s a sadness to it that he doesn’t like.

***

Another few weeks go by, and Jesse stops trying to understand. He’s too old for this, spent too many years playing along to other people’s tunes, and he’s tired. He goes about his business as he usually does, though he makes an effort not to use Training Room One. He starts practicing with Hana, of all people, trying to get her more comfortable with her firearm, and occasionally other members join them. Jesse isn’t sure what it is about the girl’s snarky exuberance, but he finds he likes it something fierce. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a relationship unburdened by anything else than sarcasm and sass.

He goes on missions with the all-clear from Angela. Even when Hanzo’s his team’s designated sniper, the two of them don’t speak more than necessary. On the transport, they sit on opposite sides of the hull, only speaking about the mission via the comms once they’re on the ground. Jesse’s fine with it, or so he tells himself. He tries to ignore the way they still work so well together, but there’s no denying that they do. Neither of them falter, and there’s no second guessing despite weeks of almost no contact.

A few weeks back into active duty, Jesse is guarding a supply cache and waiting for transport. Talon been on their ass the entire mission, even though it was supposed to be easy and nonproblemattc. Lena scouts the area, and Hanzo perches above on the balcony of a deserted building.

Jesse rolls his shoulder, wincing at the stiffness of his joints after being on edge for the last two hours.

“McCree, on your left,” Hanzo barks into the comms, his voice a snarl of exasperation.

Jesse turns, shoots, watches the enemy combatant fall.

“Fool,” Hanzo spits.

 _Definitely that_ , Jesse thinks.

***

He’s surprised it takes as long as it does for Genji to corner him.

He’s sitting on the roof of one of the comm buildings in the afternoon, his guitar resting on his knee. The air is cool, but the sky’s clear of clouds and the sun beats down on him comfortingly. He tilts his head back, prosthetic hand gently cupping the neck and flesh hand draped over the body of the instrument.

He hears Genji approach before the cyborg says anything.

“Howdy,” Jesse murmurs. The sun’s making him sleepy.

“I have not heard you play in some time,” Genji says and sits next to him on the edge of the roof.

Jesse hums something, a noncommittal sound, and runs his fingers along the strings of the guitar. His callouses catch and there’s a deep trill from the instrument. He can feel the vibration through his entire arm. His fingers itch to play.

Genji doesn’t give him the chance to start.

“Can we speak frankly?”

“‘Course,” Jesse says, biting back a sigh. He stares out at the water, miles and miles of blue. “This ‘bout your brother?”

Genji nods once in his peripheral vision, slowly, tentatively. “It is.”

Jesse keeps his voice as flat as possible, not wanting the fire burning in his gut to put any inflection on his words. “Not sure what I can tell ya, partner. Don’t rightly know myself what happened, just that it did.”

“You have not tried to speak to him?”

“Doesn’t seem like he wants to be spoke to.”

“You should try,” Genji states firmly.

Jesse laughs— he can’t help it. “Genji, I ain’t one for pushing friendships, especially when I’m bein’ avoided like the goddamn plague.”

“He is—”

“That’s the thing, ain’t it? It’s him, not me. I didn’t ignore him for over a month, pal, and I ain’t about to force him into anything he don’t want.”

Genji sighs. “I understand you, I do, but I think you should speak to him.”

“Give me one goddamn reason to,” Jesse snaps and turns to Genji. The guitar groans as his fingers scrape across the strings, and this time the vibration makes him shiver. “Tell me why I should give him the time a day outside of missions. ‘Cause I’m tired, Genji. I don’t have the patience for this kinda bullshit.”

“It has been a long time since he’s developed relationships outside of the Shimada,” Genji states without hesitating. “He is overwhelmed.”

“Not my fuckin’ problem,” Jesse all but snarls, and he intends for that to be it, he really does, but the words keep pouring from his mouth like water from a broken dam. “I spent years in hiding, thinkin’ that most of my friends and comrades were dead or worse. The only people to seek me out were the ones who wanted to deliver my head on a platter to the highest bidder, but I put it aside. I forgave Jack for not lookin’ for me, I forgave you and Lena and the rest for scattering but not bothering to find me even though I tracked your sorry asses down from my hovel. I forgive, and I forget, and I make friends, but I don’t make bonds, not anymore, and if you expect me to put my feelings aside after I broke my own goddamn rule ‘cause he can’t deal, then you’re sorely mistaken in the level of my character, friend.”

“Genji.”

Jesse and Genji both freeze. Jesse didn’t hear the footsteps, and he assumes Genji must have been too wrapped up in the sentimental, angry nonsense Jesse was word-vomiting at him to notice the other Shimada’s approach. Jesse’s heart lurches into his throat and his grip on the guitar tightens so much he can feel the wood bow.

Genji’s head angles up so he can look at his brother, but Jesse doesn’t have the nerve to turn around.

“Would you please give us a moment?” Hanzo asks tersely.

Genji glances back at Jesse, head tilting to the side as if asking permission. Jesse just closes his eyes and nods.

“Then I will take my leave.” He stands and places a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, squeezing gently, before he departs.

Jesse doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak, and Hanzo remains where he is. The silence is deafening, and Jesse tries to focus on his other senses— the sun warming his shoulders, the weight of the guitar on his knee, the salty breeze on his cheeks, the feel of the strings beneath his fingers. He tries to breath normally, too, but his throat is tight and his chest feels like it was packed full of sand.

“You feel strongly about my absence.”

The bottle of rage he’s been holding onto bursts open like a Molotov Cocktail.

“That’s a helluva thing to say to me,” Jesse snaps, voice rough.

“I apologize.”

Hanzo’s voice is steady and measured, just like always, and Jesse finds the anxiety of finally confronting the archer melting away in lieu of pure, unadulterated fury. “I don’t want an apology from the likes of you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“A fuckin’ explanation!” he sneers and is finally forced to set the guitar aside before he shatters it.

“It is hard to explain,” Hanzo murmurs, hesitancy in his voice.

Jesse climbs to his feet and finally turns around. Locks of dark hair that’ve come loose from his ribbon drift into Hanzo’s face, but the archer doesn’t attempt to brush them away. He stares at Jesse with an intensity that makes his stomach twist and turn— with trepidation, with lust, with anger.

“So try,” Jesse hisses.

Hanzo doesn’t. He just stands there and stares, hands curled into fists at his sides. Seconds go by, minutes, and goddamn, but no one ever accused Jesse McCree of being a patient man. He shoulders past the archer, tells himself he’ll go back for the guitar later when there wasn’t a high probability of him smashing it against the wall the first chance he got, and is nearly to the door when a cool hand wraps around his wrist and yanks him backwards.

Jesse stumbles and crashes into Hanzo’s chest. He ignores he sudden jolt that goes through him and tries to turn around, but the archer keeps one arm twisted behind his back, just shy of painful, and grips Jesse’s hip with the other hand. It roots him in place and Jesse grits his teeth against the warring sensations of being touched by the archer and being forced to stay when he doesn’t want to be here.

“You nearly died,” Hanzo snarls, his breath hot against the nape of Jesse’s neck. “I watched as you were hit, and I very nearly did not get to you in time. The man who shot you was baring down on you quickly.”

“Comes with the job,” Jesse grits. “Not sure what the hell that has to do with anything.”

“That is the problem, is it not? That is why you do not form attachments. You said so yourself.” Hanzo’s voice is grave-rough. “Why must I feel any different?”

Jesse tries to tug his arm free. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Then let me explain more clearly.”

Jesse’s reflexes are fast, but Hanzo’s are faster. He spins Jesse around at the same time as he ushers him backwards with both hands on the cowboy’s hips. Jesse nearly trips over his own feet, and then the door meets his back with a thud. Jesse curses, discombobulated, and reaches out. He fists his hands in Hanzo’s hakama, grip tightening until he can feel the fabric stretch to the point of almost tearing.

“Now listen here,” Jesse snarls.

He doesn’t get to say anything else, but Jesse knows three things in the next few moments.

He knows that the archer’s hands leave his hips.

He knows that he’s a few inches taller than the archer, so Hanzo has to curls his fingers around the curve of his jaw to drag him down.

He knows— feels— that Hanzo’s lips are chapped and warm, and he kisses like he does everything else: with measured calm housing a beast beneath it.

Jesse doesn’t know a thing beyond that. His mind is blank, and all he can do is gasp into the kiss, eyes wide. Hanzo’s are closed, dark lashes fanned across his high cheekbones and eyebrows drawn together determinedly on his forehead. He’s beautiful in the most terrifying way, and Jesse thinks he whimpers, because suddenly Hanzo breaks the kiss, pulling back and putting a few inches between them even though his hands stay where they cup Jesse’s cheeks.

He searches Hanzo’s face, his mind racing even though he can’t pin down a single thought, and Jesse sees it— self doubt, flickering across the other man’s angular features.

“You nearly died,” Hanzo repeats quietly, and he sounds small and unsure, so unlike himself, that it feels like a punch to Jesse’s gut.

 _I’ve had it all wrong_ , Jesse thinks.

“I watched as you were gunned down,” the archer continues, “and I could hardly contain them before I reached you.”

“Them?” Jesse rasps.

Hanzo closes his eyes and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. “The dragons.”

“You use them all the time,” Jesse says weakly. “I don’t understand why that matters.”

“They raged,” Hanzo growls. “I could feel them trying to tear through me as you hit the ground. I have not felt such unbridled fury from them in a long time. It has been years since they tore from my control and disobeyed my command.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Jesse snaps, desperate. “Don’t give me your goddam Japanese riddles, Hanzo. Tell me straight.”

Hanzo’s face contorts as if it pains him to say it, and when he opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide. “I care for you. I care for you too strongly.”

Jesse’s heart is in his throat again. “Tell me _straight_.”

“ _Aishiteru_ ,” Hanzo snarls, “you fool.”

Jesse doesn’t know a lot of Japanese, but Hana’s made him watch enough J-Dramas that he knows that word. He feels like a live wire, pulse thrumming so loudly he’s not sure how Hanzo can’t hear it, and before he loses his mind, he wraps his arms around the other man and slots their lips together. The archer stiffens for a millisecond and then groans, surging upwards, nails digging crescents into Jesse’s skin. Jesse cups the back of Hanzo’s neck in one hand, grips the base of his ponytail in the other, and forces the archer to tilt his head so Jesse and swipe his tongue into the other man’s mouth when he gasps. Hanzo tastes like bitter tea and mint and _mine mine mine_ , his mind supplies.

“You sayin’,” Jesse murmurs against his mouth, “that you ignored me to try an’ forget about me?”

“I needed to compose myself,” Hanzo growls. “The dragons were restless. I feared what would happen if I spoke to you before they had calmed.” He pauses, rests his cheek against Jesse’s. “I feared you did not feel the same.”

The gesture is tender, and Jesse’s heart swells, but he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “Oh, darlin’, I been lustin’ after you for months.”

“Lusting.”

“I haven’t wanted someone so badly in a long time.”

“Lusting,” Hanzo repeats stonily.

“I’m in love with you,” Jesse says and tugs at the other man’s hair. Hanzo allows his throat to be exposed, and Jesse dips down to brush his lips along the archer’s jaw, to nuzzle against his pulse point, which beats wildly despite Hanzo’s calm exterior. “Goddamn, but you’re somethin’. I thought I mighta blabbered ‘bout it to you when I was high on painkillers. Thought I scared you away.”

“You did indeed blabber,” Hanzo murmurs breathily. “I know more about your adverse reaction to narcotics than I am sure is in your medical fil—”

Jesse quiets the other man with a kiss.

***

Jesse knows three things.

He knows that a collective exhalation of tension filters through the entire base when they all realize Jesse and Hanzo are on speaking terms because it was making them all mighty uncomfortable after watching the two be neigh inseparable for months. “Sexual tension is a powerful thing,” Jesse tells them over dinner that night. Hanzo rolls his eyes but denies nothing. Genji laughs so hard his ventilation system can’t keep up with him.

He knows that Angela’s never given anyone a high-five in front of him in the years since he made her acquaintance. She gives him one that night when the rest of the team has filtered out of the mess hall and smiles in a way that makes him think of second chances.

He knows that when he lays on his back in Hanzo’s bed and allows the archer to to stretch him open with deft but gentle fingers, Hanzo is as tense as a whipcord and the most goddamned beautiful thing Jesse’s ever seen. He can all but feel the energy radiating from the other man as Hanzo finally slides inside of him, a warm, electric pulse not unlike static shock without the pain. It drives Jesse mad, sets his nerve endings on fire and causes strangled moans to tear past his clenched teeth. Hanzo’s hair is down, the lines of ink on his arm and chest glow icy blue in the darkened room, and there’s a feral gleam in his eye as Jesse arches beneath him— and Christ, it’s all enough to make Jesse come untouched.

“I tamed a wild stallion once,” Jesse murmurs afterwards, when Hanzo is draped over him, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat and his heart beating like a drum. His tattoo stills glows ever so slightly, and when Jesse runs his fingertips over it, following the lines of scales and talons and teeth, he swears he can feel vibrations not unlike those emitted by the strings of his guitar.

“Oh?” Hanzo hums. “How generic.”

Jesse laughs. “Says the Japanese man with a bunch of dragon spirits beneath his skin. You’re a right Japanese cartoon.”

He can feel Hanzo smile against his collarbone.

“Dragons ain’t nothing compared to a wild horse,” Jesse says after a moment.

Hanzo snorts derisively, but his voice is gentle. “Perhaps in time you may tame them, then.”

The invitation behind those words— well, it’s all Jesse needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://etlabetes.tumblr.com), where I'm pretty fandom focused, or on [Twitter](http://Twitter.com/lagiabella), where I rant about inane things, write about not writing, and post photos of my pets. :D


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